Feelings of Guilt
by PissyNovelist
Summary: Guilt is one of the strongest, shittiest feelings a person can have; Elizabeth Keen would do anything to absolve her of the guilt that plagues her. A candid moment between the Very Special Agent and the Concierge of Crime. ** Set after the final events of the latest episode; major Spoiler Alert if you haven't seen it! Sweet Liz x Dembe BROTP and a lil Lizzington.


**So, major spoilers for the most recent episode for those who haven't seen it. Just a warning.**

**Lizzington and super serious Liz x Dembe Brotp**

Her white scarf, tainted with Raymond Reddington's blood was caressed by her limp hands. She was hunched over in her seat, situated in the privacy of his most prestigious safe house. With a heavy sigh, she let the scarf fall to the ground. Her hands, coated with Red's dried blood, revealed themselves to the world. Not that it mattered, the front of her blouse was soaked anyway.

Liz wasn't sure how she got here. They were shooting, Dembe hit a button on his old pager, and then they were here with a doctor, Red, and Mister Kaplan; all three of which were in a special room that resembled a hospital for just such occasions.

Dembe sat next to her and he placed a very hesitant hand upon her back. She didn't move; he didn't expect her to. Liz enjoyed the human contact; it kept her grounded, kept reminding her that this shit show was real, that she wasn't alone.

"I got into my car knowing I would do my best never to speak to him again. I spent my last moment with him angry. Red was probably disappointed in my behaviour." Liz spoke, monotone. She was too exhausted to feel an emotion other than guilt.

"I don't think you did, Miss Keen. Red is a difficult man to kill." Dembe replied, so genuine and true.

"But what if he is. What if I spent out last moment together pissed off at him? I should have let him explain, let him tell me why." She began to ramble, but stopped as Dembe's hand dragged up her back and gripped her shoulder.

"He is not. But if he is, he wouldn't want you to waste time worrying over such petty things. Do not sweat the small stuff, or that's what he said to me, anyway. And he will tell you why, the moment he wakes up, he will." He was so relaxed and calm. But he has been with Red since the early days; Liz figured he's been through this at least three times over.

"You should change." Dembe tossed out, leaning forward to get a look at the damage.

"Not until I know he's okay." Liz replied.

A moment of silence possessed them. She couldn't recall a time when she spoke to the faithful bodyguard and friend of Red. Dembe was truly a gem within it all.

"You should rest, then."

"Every time I close my eyes, I see the blood."

She was cursed with every blink. The waves of thick, bright blood pouring out of his mouth and gunshot wound. She itched her hand until it was raw, unable to shake off the feeling of how warm his blood was when she grabbed his face and turned it to the side. In that moment, he was so lifeless. The man who had the whole world groveling at his feet as bleeding like a pig.

Her chest suddenly felt hot. Liz nearly collapsed onto the floor as she ran to the garbage can, puking so hard that she couldn't breathe. Dembe was immediately by her side, one hand on her back and the other holding back her hair. He was not bothered by her retching. Liz finally stopped emptying her stomach, struggling for deep breaths. Her nose and throat burning with the acid that forced its way out of her body.

Dembe had gone and came back nearly as quick, with a cup of water and a few orange pills in hand. Liz took them without question; figuring they were a small anti-nausea pill with a mild sedative. The worked at the half hour mark, on the dot. Her anxiety began to cease and she was able to close her eyes without her senses being flooded with snapshots.

She was nearly asleep, slumped over in the comfortable chair, when the door opened, Mister Kaplan filing out first, and a self-satisfied doctor strutting behind.

"He's a fighter," the gorgeous doctor began speaking without prompt ", he should've died, really. But it was a clean shot, low through the chest. Missed just about everything vital, but from what I see, it might have clipped the smallest part of his lung. I'll be living in for the next few weeks, just to monitor him. But toher than that, he'll be up and at 'er in a week's time." The doctor began going on and on to Dembe about how she would be alerted if his heart rate dropped and raised, in an almost arrogant way, but Liz tuned it all out. She couldn't give a shit that the doctor thought she was all that and a bag of chips.

The only thing that mattered was that Red was okay.

"When can I see him?" Liz blurted, uncaring for whatever part of the conversation they were in.

"Well, he's unconscious from the shock and the surgery, but I suppose you can see him now. Everything in there is sterile, so don't touch anything." The doctor shooed her away; as if to say '_let the adults talk now, honey'._ Liz didn't mind; she was already up and into the room.

Liz smiled to herself, looking around the room. He only expected the best and bought the best. The room was like a hospital room; smell and all. Her small moment of amusement fell when she laid her eyes on him. Red was pale and there were tubes everywhere. He was vulnerable.

Liz approached the hospital bed, letting her fingers trail along the rail as she walked around. She kept waiting for him to jump up, tell her it was all a cruel joke; that he was really, really fine. But the moment never came. The heart monitor kept beeping, the oxygen mask kept fogging, the morphine kept dripping.

Liz grabbed Red's hand, giving it a good squeeze. He didn't respond; sheer force of will couldn't save her.

Liz yawned; the medication she took begging for her to succumb to a forced sleep. She sat down in the chair beside the bed, watching him through drooping eyes. A voice at the back of her head kept nagging at her, interrupting her sleep, despite the strength of the medication. Liz craved being close to him; Liz wanted Red to know that she wasn't mad anymore.

She looked at the door, figuring if someone was going to interrupt her, they would've done it already. She was mindful of the tubes, thankful that all of them resided predominantly on his right side. Liz lifted herself onto the gurney, nuzzling herself between his left arm and Red's chest.

Mindful of his wound, she kept her arms tucked against her. She laid her head on his chest and listen to his heart beat; it was a little fast, but it was okay. If she thought hard enough, she was able to cut through the synthetic smell of sterilization and smell _him_; a fancy cologne that she couldn't place and his natural scent.

She looked up at Red's face, the faint bronze stains of blood still remained on his cheeks. Liz licked her thumb, gently rubbing his warmed flesh, the stains lifting in an instant. Liz sighed, happily, content with her work. Finally, she felt safe enough to close her eyes. Lying her head back down, the sound of his heart beat to guide her, she was pulled into a deep sleep.


End file.
